


The Elevator Scene

by Moit



Category: NCIS
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dominance, F/M, Gunplay, Smut, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moit/pseuds/Moit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a coda of NCIS 8.23 that diverges from canon for some shameless Ziva/Tim elevator!sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Elevator Scene

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Naemi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/gifts).



"You see this?" Tim growls, thrusting his watch into Ziva's face. "Nine hours, twenty-one minutes."

"Has it been that long?" Ziva replies sarcastically. She rips the watch out of Tim's hand and smashes it against the wall of the elevator.

"Why did you do that?" Tim asks, his voice carrying more exasperation than anger.

"It was either you or the watch."

They stare at one another, the silence creeping in around them. Until the point at which Ziva destroyed Tim's watch, he had been painfully aware of the face reading three thirty-six. Everyone _else_ had left the building early the previous night while Tim and Ziva elected to . . . well, they weren't exactly planning to get stuck in the fucking elevator.

"Quit looking at me like that," Ziva insists.

"Like what?" Tim retorts. "What do you expect me to look at, anyway? It's not like there's anything else we can do other than stare at one another until everyone else shows up for work and finds us locked in here."

The sound of a click that echoing in the small metal box draws Tim's attention to the gun Ziva now holds in her hand. "Ziva?" he says slowly. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Shut up, McGee," Ziva says slow and evenly. It's her scary voice. The voice Tim knows she uses when preparing to shoot things--people--to kill them. It means she's going to that quiet dark place in her mind. It also means she gun she holds is pointed directly at him.

Holding his hands up in front of his body is his only defense. He keeps his mouth closed, lest it should incite her anger further.

"Get on your knees," she says, taking a step backwards.

Unsure what is going on in the ex-Mossad's mind, Tim lowers himself carefully to his knees, his eyes never leaving Ziva's face.

Ziva levels the gun with Tim's mouth. "Suck it."

"Suck?" Tim says, eyes flicking to Ziva's crotch, but she doesn't have a--

"Suck it," Ziva repeats, tracing Tim's lips with the barrel of her SIG-Sauer.

Tentatively, Tim opens his mouth, wondering what has suddenly snapped in Ziva's mind, and if she's going to kill him. Her gun slides into his mouth, cold and metallic, but the pounding of his heart in his ears is all Tim can focus on. His world has narrowed down to the gun in his mouth. He's sure he's going to die.

Ziva fucks the gun in and out of Tim's mouth, amusement clear on her face. She wears that secret little smile that means her thoughts would probably give anyone else nightmares. She pulls the gun roughly out of Tim's mouth, his front teeth clacking painfully against the sight at the end of the barrel.

"Take your clothes off."

"What?" Tim sputters, wiping at the blood on his upper lip.

"Are you hard of hearing or just really fucking stupid today?" Ziva asks, rolling her eyes. "Get naked," she says, giving him *that stare* again. The sound of her cocking the pistol spurring Tim into action. He rips at the knot of his tie and pulls at the fabric of his shirt, sending buttons flying across the floor of the elevator. If this is it, and Ziva has really lost her mind, he's going to do everything he can to belabor his own death. When Tim stands in the cold air of the elevator in naught but what he came into this world wearing, he wonders if he'll leave the same way. His cock and balls have shriveled as tightly as his body will allow, partly in fear and partly from the cold.

Ziva pulls her hand back and cracks Tim across the mouth with the butt of the gun. His head is knocked to the side with the force of the blow. His sight goes dark for a minute, and he's spitting blood.

"Stand up and turn around," Ziva says. Her dark eyes are cold.

Tim stands on shaky knees. He can still see Ziva's reflection behind him in the mirrored wall of the elevator.

"Spread your legs."

Tim does. He has an idea of what she's planning now, and the debasement scares him even more than death. If she's going to kill him, why can't she just do it?

The muzzle of the gun is cold, it feels like ice as Ziva insinuates it between the cheeks of Tim's ass. "You like that?" she whispers, staring at his eyes in the reflection.

A swallow rolls down Tim's throat. "Yes," he croaks out, unsure if the truth will incite her anger further.

Ziva pushes the gun harder into Tim's rectum. "Relax, so I can get inside. All I have is your spit for lube."

Tim forces himself to relax, despite the intense urge to clamp his body shut tightly against the invading metal. His relaxation only allows Ziva to press the gun farther inside. With a quick twist of her wrist, Tim's flesh gives and the barrel of the gun sinks several inches inside. It burns like fire, and at the same time, Tim can't deny the flame that is stoked inside his belly.

"You're getting off on this," Ziva smirks. She pulls the gun almost completely out and pushes it back inside. Slowly. "Jerk yourself off."

Tim fumbles for his cock. It's small, shriveled from the cold and the fear. It responds slowly, but with the combination of his warm palm and the gentle pressure of the gun inside his anus, Tim's erection begins to thicken.

"That's good," Ziva croons. "Tell me how it feels."

"God, it's, I don't know . . ." Tim licks his dry lips. "It's . . ." Ziva twists the gun barrel. "Oh, fuck."

"That good, huh?" Ziva grabs Tim's jaw with her free hand, forcing him to meet her eyes. "I always knew you were a little bitch-boy. Say it. Tell me you're my bitch boy."

"I'm your--oh--bitch boy."

"Again," Ziva demands, thrusting the gun with a steady motion now.

"I'm your bitch boy," Tim sighs, his hand working faster on his cock. There was no denying he was enjoying it at this point.

"You wanna cum, bitch boy?" Tim sighs softly. Ziva gave the gun a particularly hard thrust. "I can't hear you."

"Yes," Tim whispers.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Ziva."

Ziva smears her grin into the cold bare skin of Tim's shoulder. "If you want to cum, you've got to ask permission."

"P-permission?" Tim stutters. His mind is quickly narrowing to the building tension between his legs.

"Ask me and I'll let you cum."

"Oh god."

"Tim," Ziva says patiently, as though talking to a small child. "Ask me."

"Please Ziva," Tim pants. His knees are beginning to buckle, and he's not sure how much longer he can stand.

"Ask me."

"Please Ziva, let me cum." The sentence comes out in a rush. Tim's hand on his cock is a blur. All he wants is to release.

"Go ahead," Ziva says, sliding the gun completely out of his body.

Tim falls to the floor, cock spurting, painting the metal walls and floor with semen. He collapses in a pile of limbs, his body cold, confused, exhausted, and humiliated. He thought he was over letting her get under his skin like that.

"Tim," Ziva whispers.

Tim groans and swats at her. He doesn't feel like getting up right now.

"Tim," Ziva whispers louder, shaking him.

Tim's eyes fly open and he stares up at her, eyes blinking into the harsh light of the elevator. He looks down at himself, at his wrinkled suit, and the dream comes flooding back. Heat fills his face.

"Nice dream?" Ziva smirks.

"None of your business," Tim grumbles, adjusting the jacket of his suit. He can feel the wetness in his boxers and it makes him feel like he needs more than a shower. He hasn't had a wet dream in years. "What did you wake me up for?"

"Gibbs is outside. They're working to get the elevator open." The ensuing pounding upon the elevator doors underscores her point. Ziva leans closer. "Just so you know? You talk in your sleep, bitch boy, but I off on it, too."

Tim's face floods with heat as the elevator doors are pried open. Ziva throws a smirk over her shoulder as she saunters past a frowning Gibbs. Tim is left to gather the remains of his dignity and follow her in cold, damp trousers. At least the fabric is dark enough to conceal the stain.


End file.
